Team Awesome
by khrasaya
Summary: A series of drabbles about our two favourite boys, Spock and Jim. No correlation between each chapter unless stated otherwise. K/S
1. Meld

"_Bones_!"

McCoy didn't flinch when Jim's roar echoed throughout sickbay. The redshirt whose arm he was setting nearly jolted clean out of his seat and the doctor roughly tugged him back down. The kid—Johnson? Jenson? God only knows how Jim remembers every single crew member's first and last names… maybe it was Jameson—gave a nervous look to McCoy, waiting for him to answer the call, but the chief medical officer ignored it with a parental air of indifference.

"Well, there you go, kid," Bones grunted, giving the ensign back his arm.

"Thanks, doctor," the boy nodded. "Man, I always come back from away missions with something broken or busted. Any advice on how to avoid that?"

"Wear a different coloured shirt?" McCoy grumbled under his breath as he reassembled his kit.

"What?"

"What?" McCoy glanced up, raising his eyebrows innocently. "Alright, you're fixed. Get outta my sickbay."

The redshirt nodded and hopped of the bed, jumping a foot in the air when Jim tried again-

"Mc_Coy_!"

"Damnit, Jim, I'm a doctor not a senior citizen!" Bones shouted back. "There's no need to shout!"

"Bones!" Jim yipped as his head appeared between the curtains of the medical bed Bones was crouched in front of. "I was looking for you."

"So I heard," Bones mumbled, twisting a finger in his ear and pulling a face in exaggeration. "What do you want?"

"Why is Spock on sick leave?"

McCoy frowned and rubbed at the bags under his eyes. The hope that this wouldn't bounce back to him and that Jim might just _remember_ had apparently been too much to ask. He glanced around the clearly populated medical hall and decisively grabbed Jim around the collar of his precious golden captain's uniform and hauled him into his office.

"Jesus, Bones," Jim gulped at Bones' serious-Bones-is-serious face, "is he okay? What happened?"

"Your boyfriend's fine, Jim, relax," McCoy rolled his eyes and gave Jim's shoulder a downwards shove so he collapsed into a chair.

"He's not my- what are we fourteen? That's not what we call it-" Jim sputtered.

"I just gave him a mental health day," Bones continued, unperturbed. "God knows he needs it, today of all days."

Jim squinted, an impending prickling in his stomach. "Mental health day…? Today of all… Bones, what are you- oh, _shit_."

Jim's stomach was sucked backwards and replaced with cold stone. Had a year really gone by so fast? He knew that something had been bothering Spock over the past couple days. Anyone else on the ship—except possibly Uhura—would have sworn that Spock was his typical indifferent holier-than-thou Vulcan self, but Jim could pick up minute things that betrayed him. Small twitches in the muscle of his jaw that showed his impatience with an ensign said his temper was waning. The milliseconds of hesitation before answering an order revealed he was deep in brooding thought even on the bridge. Jim knew that Spock's "I am by no means incapable of performing my duties sufficiently, Captain's" were as authentic as Jim's "I'm fine, Bones" after a Tarsus dream. But while Jim could see through the front Spock put up to everyone else, he hit an impasse whenever he tried to breach the subject with Spock.

When Jim had reached the bridge only to find that prat, Ensign Denner, sitting at his favourite science's officer's station, he immediately asked the computer to locate him. When he was told that his first officer had taken sick leave, he'd gone to find Bones, worried that Spock's dark change in demeanor was caused by physical ailment. Jim now rose from his chair and tore out of sickbay, furious with himself to the point of aching. How had he _forgotten_?

"Yeah, see you later, Jim," McCoy grumbled to the empty chair. "Hope you can fix the hobgoblin."

...

The first chime on Spock's door didn't get a chance to finish before Jim slammed his captain's override into the screen. The door whooshed open and Jim hopped past it into the room. Entering Spock's quarters was always like walking into a hot, dry wall, and Jim coughed against the arid atmosphere.

"Captain," he heard Spock hiss, and Jim strained his eyes to see in the total darkness, "this is a most inappropriate use of your privileges. I require solitude."

"Computer, lights at ten percent," Jim ignored him.

There was a low hum of lights as they illuminated Spock's crunched silhouette on the bed. He was in a strained meditative stance, but his delicate fingers were clenched at his knees instead of tapered into the typical tranquil arrangement. His face was blank, but the hesitant pinch of his already sloping eyebrows conveyed such raw emotion that Jim thought he might as well have been snarling like an animal.

"Spock." Jim strode forward, reaching to embrace the other man. Spock inhaled sharply, raising a hand swiftly to keep the human back so Jim stumbled to a halt.

"I was not attempting a human 'joke' when I said I required solitude, Captain," Spock attempted to deadpan, but a twisted growl rumbled at the back of his throat. "Leave me."

"No," Jim defied, and Spock's arm crumpled back to his lap in exasperated defeat. "Spock, I'm sorry. Let me help you, please."

"You cannot understand-" Spock tried, and Jim was reminded of the pinched strained tone he had heard almost exactly twelve months ago; _"Step away from me, Mister Kirk…"_

"Then help me understand!" Jim almost pleaded, dropping down onto his knees so he could better meet Spock's downcast gaze. "Talk to me. Let me help you." It wasn't working, Spock wouldn't open up. "Let me _see_," Jim insisted, and then proceeded to do something stupid.

Jim clumsily placed his fingers with such a haphazard human inaccuracy on Spock's face that had he not pricked the vague crackle of intent beneath Jim's fingertips, Spock would have assumed he chose the positions at random. Jim's entire face was scrunched in concentration, a small dent folding between his furrowed eyebrows in such a way that it made Spock embarrassingly want to reach out and gently smudge out the line of discomfort. He clenched his hand and did not.

Spock leaned back slightly from Jim's crude attempt to locate his psi-points. "Captain, what are you doing?"

Jim's shoulders relaxed in good humoured defeat and he squinted one wide blue eye open to meet Spock's own, narrowed, dark and hiding.

"It's not working, is it?"

Spock could gather that the answer was definitely _no_, but suppressed the far-too-human desire to roll his eyes and was satisfied with the Vulcan equivalent of cocking an eyebrow. "What is not working, Jim?"

"The, um… the meld?" Jim screwed up his face slightly, as though realizing the daftness of his words and wishing he could take them back midsentence.

Spock couldn't resist the slightly surprised rise of his eyebrows despite Jim only confirming his suspicions. "You are attempting a… mind meld, Captain?"

"_Jim_," Jim corrected, fingers still sprawled softly across Spock's face, "and, yeah, I was _trying_ but apparently it's not working-"

Spock released his breath with a slight hiss that was, of course, by no means a sigh. "You, a human," Spock clarified, annoyed that he was forced to exercise an illegal level of restraint to prevent himself from leaning slightly into his superior officer's touch, "with extraordinarily unsophisticated nerve endings and nonexistent psi-readings, attempted to initiate a _Vulcan_ mind meld?"

Jim had been growing progressively impatient throughout Spock's longwinded question—which he felt was more of a rhetorical my-God-Jim-can't-you-hear-how-horribly-stupid-you-are? statement than a question—and now made a second face of exasperated annoyance. "Well, you make it sound stupid when you say it like that."

For the briefest of moments Spock was tempted to give the petulant and childish reply _It _was_ stupid_, but swallowed the desire. He could feel Jim's slightly hurt irritation through the small amount of contact and regretted being the source of Jim's agitation. "Similar to a Vulcan nerve pinch," Spock explained in a softer tone, "the intricacies of detecting and accurately tapping a being's psi-points are usually lost on humans. Your hands are not sensitive enough." While Jim disapproved of Spock's still rather condescending tone, the half-Vulcan's attempt at patience reassured him slightly, and this leaked through his fingertips and encouraged Spock to continue his gentle explanations. "Furthermore, while proper positioning of the hands for a meld can be learned, it is impossible for a human to project themselves onto the mind of another. Members of your species are not touch telepaths, Jim. You have far too low a psi-reading. Did you not pay attention in your xenobiology classes?"

"Okay so that was the _one_ class I didn't get at least ninety in," Jim grinned. His face sobered somewhat and he subconsciously pressed slightly harder, more insistently at Spock's cheek and forehead. "I just want to help, to _see_- I thought that I'd had enough experience with melding that maybe I could replicate it. Apparently, I was wrong," Jim added when Spock's eyebrow levitated again. "But I wouldn't even have had to go and make a fool of myself if you just let me _in-_"

"In order to properly complete a meld," Spock avoided swiftly, "your fingertips must be placed in the proper positions." Spock gently enveloped the back of Jim's hand in his, guiding it slightly across his face. Jim's surprise, intrigue, hope, all seeped from his skin, and Spock blinked the mild bombardment of foreign emotion away. "Here," Spock adjusted Jim's pinkie finger to the correct psi-point, "here," the ring finger, "here and here." Spock brushed his captain's middle and index fingers into their proper places, and the jolt of Jim's anticipation and arousal at the unintended sweeping kiss of fingers bit into Spock's nerves. Spock stiffened, thrashing up a protective veil against the constant onslaught of Jim's emotions, but Jim's consequential surge of guilt and disappointed restraint still prickled in his hand.

Spock's face twitched slightly against the uninvited emotional transfer and for a moment he was almost angry. How rude of Jim to constantly send flashes of his feelings; could he not restrain himself for courtesy's sake? How could he be so inconsiderate, when Spock was emotionally compromised, to so blatantly project every little-

"Jim," Spock forced out, retracting his hand so it merely hovered over Jim's. Spock pulled away slightly from the steady stream of thought and feeling from the other's hand across his face, but not enough to completely rid himself of the touch.

"Sorry," Jim mumbled, and Spock could feel him rein himself inwards somewhat.

Spock gave a minute nod of thanks and carefully resumed his arrangement of Jim's hand, hardly touching him as he slid Jim's thumb and final digit into place.

Jim swallowed, and Spock was vaguely amused when he felt Jim's general feeling of anticlimax. "Then what?" Jim asked.

"Then you project yourself," Spock supplied, closing his eyes as he tried to anchor himself in the calm and robotic explanation. "Your thoughts and feelings. You project your katra while allowing the other participant's to mingle with yours. It is difficult to explain, Jim-"

"Got it," Jim nodded, and then squinted in concentration again.

Spock had let his already crumbling guard down somewhat in relief when Jim had agreed to restrain himself, so he was not braced for the sudden and uncontained attack of Jim's emotions; want, sadness, pain, regret, determination, hope, guilt, more want, more pain, and all for Spock. The first officer tried to toss up thin and shattering barriers against Jim; he was not prepared, he was not stable, and with his psi-points being teased open by the touch, Jim was going to make him-

Slip.

_Jim was engulfed in black so suddenly that he mentally staggered. He was unmistakably swirling in _Spock_. He knew it with ever fibre of his essence for reasons that could not be explained so much as they just somehow fit. He was given a brief moment of fascination before a violent rush of torture he knew far too well ripped him into pieces. Hurt, pain, suffering, regret, loss, sadness, longing, ache, heavy leaden guilt- _ow_, Jim screamed without a mouth._

_Eighty seven—and some persistent sense of precision allowed Jim to know that that was exactly how many there were—images suffocated him all at once. He couldn't fathom how he saw every image at one time, just that he did, and it hurt. There was an image of a beautiful woman and Jim could feel her adjusting the collar of… his? hand-knit sweater._

_"You will have a proud mother…"_

_On top of that were fearful eyes, her eyes, as they locked with his and said a silent, knowing goodbye before they were wrenched away. An outstretched hand, his hand, trying to grasp at her before he was tugged away._

_Missing, one person missing on the transporter pad. He couldn't reach when his calculating mind told him it was impossible, that there was no way he could, by sheer force of will, will her molecules to reassemble on that dead silently glowing pad-_

_"Mother!"_

_Another layer of clip ran on the surface of the previous. Blue, ice cold blue, eyes piercing into him, accusing him, shouting every feeling he already inwardly screamed at himself. It was his fault; he wasn't fast enough. It was his fault and she would never know-_

_"It must not even _compute _for you-"_

_He had never said it, he had never said it and now he never could. No one would ever know, _she_ would never know that he-_

_"You _never_ loved her!"_

_His hands were around the accuser's throat now. He was killing him, as though silencing him would silence every thought he had voiced… every thought he had already accused himself of. Would it go away? Would the guilt finally stop if the person who made him feel it even sharper was gone?_

_"Fire everything!"_

_A new face seared through all the images, burning Jim, tattoos writhing across his face in countless other scenes that all made Jim want to scream, but that were all impossible to blink against. Anger choked Jim, he couldn't breathe through it, it was like inhaling flame and snow, a volcanic core exploding all around him and inside him. He wanted to kill him. He wanted to break every single vow or cultural promise he had ever made, just to seek revenge, something so ugly and never gratifying._

_Further still, the string of guilt returned, an endless loop. Because despite his best attempts to restrain himself, he felt what the monster felt. He felt the loss of everything he had ever known-_

_"I am now a member of an endangered species."_

_-and that was his fault too. His responsibility. Somewhere, somehow, in some other form of life, it was his fault. His other image, the person he was mirrored in, was unable to save the murderous beast's planet just as he was unable to save his. Unable to save his own-_

_"Mother!"_

_The images were looping now, and Jim couldn't understand and grasp which thoughts were his and which belonged to someone else. It was like trying to focus on something far too close, something his eyes couldn't register. It was so near his face it was _in_ him. It hurt to stay, he needed to leave, how could he leave?_

"Let _go_!"

Jim hit the floor roughly. His eyes were wide but he couldn't see, and he had to remind himself to blink so he could focus again. He instinctively curled up onto his haunches, terrible feeling still haunting him. He jammed the butts of his palms against his eyes quickly to trammel up any stinging moisture from escaping.

"Well, that worked," Jim wheezed into his hands. Trying to prevent his voice from wavering was difficult, but he was recovering quickly.

"Forgive me," Spock whispered, still hunched over on his bed, "emotional transference is-"

"An effect of a mind meld, I know," Jim nodded, rubbing his palms across his face to shake off the déjà vu.

Jim glanced down at the hand that had only recently allowed him entrance to Spock's mind. He felt nothing, not even a tingling in his fingers.

"That wasn't me," he concluded, kicking himself when slight disappointment threatened to stir inside him.

"No," Spock answered through gritted teeth. "I was responsible. Your projection of your emotions was unexpected and overwhelming. I triggered the meld rather unintentionally. I apologize-"

"Stop that," Jim ordered, sniffing back any remaining emotional transfer and looking up at Spock with a tight sigh. "_I'm _sorry. I'm sorry I projected and made you do that, I'm sorry I _forgot_, I'm sorry I wasn't there and that you have to feel that alone, and I'm-"

Jim cut himself off and rubbed the back of his neck in exasperation. Words were stupid sometimes. He gave another shaky sigh and briskly offered his two fingers. Spock swallowed, sat up somewhat and made to gently tap the fingers to acknowledge the gesture. At the touch Jim pressed back and intertwined his entire hand in Spock's while attempting to blissfully rid himself of any stressful or imposing thoughts. Jim let Spock help him off the floor and smoothly rose to cup the half-Vulcan's face in his free hand. He ghosted his thumb over the once again hidden psi-points before tiling Spock's head up into a gentle kiss.

"Spock," he whispered, leaning his forehead against the still rigid Vulcan, "you have to let me in."

"I believe this accidental invasion of my mind was sufficient for one day," Spock muttered under his breath, and then sat up and away from Jim.

Jim let Spock go and sat back into a crouch at Spock's feet. "Please, share this with me," he whispered, still trying to catch Spock's eye. "It's not fair that you have to do this alone." Spock started to protest stubbornly but Jim held up a finger. "And don't give me any of that crap about me not being able to understand. Spock, I've seen shit, and I've had to deal with it since I was twelve. I can _help_ you."

"Since you were-?" Spock began, his squint less angry and more curious.

"And we're focusing on _you_, right now," Jim diverted quickly. He reached out slowly and was relieved when Spock allowed him to take his hand. He raised it to his own face and held it there. "Show me, Spock. Let me in and let me help you."

Jim sat there, keeping Spock's downcast gaze and trying to project only his will to help. The longest moment passed before he felt long fingers shift under his hand until they spread across his face in five tingling ports.

"Please brace yourself, Jim," Spock grunted, still seeming hesitantly embarrassed. "I do not wish to harm you-"

"I'll be fine," Jim assured him.

Spock took a deep breath and closed his eyes, Jim followed suit and tensed slightly, willing his mind to open and welcome the other, help him.

"My mind to your mind…"

_My thoughts to your thoughts…_

_..._

**A/N:** Hope you enjoyed! Reviews would be most appreciated. Voldemort is our homeboy. Don't make us call him up.


	2. Chocolate

**Chocolate**

"I refuse to consume this substance, Jim. It is highly illogical and detrimental to both ones teeth and general health."

"I don't know, Spock, I mean, there have been quite a few studies on the great benefits of _Theobroma Cacao. _Plus, Scotty just installed _Lindts_. They just started using this new Orion truffle-y kind of thing. And, I swear, it will melt in your mouth." Jim brushed his fingers lightly against Spock's lips, trying to entice the Vulcan into eating the chocolate.

"No."

"Please"

"_Captain._ Please desist. This is most inappropriate conduct for the mess."

"But it's the _officer's_ mess." Jim smirked, "_Commander_, and the only other person in right now is Bones… and that new doctor, Ensign Larkin. And he doesn't give a shit. And she's obviously trying to get into his pants."

Bones pushed his chair back slightly away from the eager ensign and tuned to Jim. "Damnit, Jim, you _know_ we can hear you."

Jim smiled brightly at McCoy, and then turned to Spock. "See? He doesn't care!"

"Jim, I believe you are incorrect in your analysis of the doctors tone. Although I am unaware of many of the nuances of human behavior, the evidence seems to suggest that Doctor McCoy is, in fact, fairly irritated with—" Without warning Jim popped a chocolate into his mouth. Spock seemed unfazed, and he chewed and then swallowed the chocolate before continuing, "you."

"That's it. I'm leaving. Jim, feel free to continue corrupting the poor, helpless minds of _anyone_ else." With that, he scampered out the room as fast as he could detach himself from the excitable ensign.

Once the doctor had left, Jim's smirk took on a decidedly more lecherous lilt. "Spock. You never did tell me what you thought of the chocolate. I've always thought the Orion's had a gift for doing whatever they did to the traditional terran chocolate."

"Captain, I would be inclined to agree with that sentiment, although my mother and father always prevented me from consuming chocolate as a child. I must confess that this is my first experience trying it. I had expected it to be more sour as it is a bean extract."

"Would you like another?"

"Captain. Are you endeavoring to coerce me into eating more chocolate?"

Kirk smiled, "Maybe."

"In an attempt to see if the rumored physiological reaction that Vulcan's experience?"

"I can assure you, Captian, that this is not the case. However, I will refrain from partaking in any more."

"Spock. We are alone. The least you could do is call me Jim. Ya'know what, I bet that you couldn't eat the whole box."

"Jim, it would be unwise for me to eat the whole box."

"What, you think you're gonna get a cavity or something? Its Orion. You know how finicky they get about food. Its practically engineered to make it so you don't get sick or anything when you are eating. You'll be fine. I hypothesize that if you eat these, you will become intoxicated."

"You are being very childish."

"Hey, you're the one who doesn't want to try it. I think you are chicken. Try it. Just _one_ more. I know you think it's savory, to say the least." Jim picked up a candy from the little green box on the table and shook it around in front of Spock, before popping it in his own mouth. "mmm. Spock, this is so good. You have to try it."

"_Jim._" Spock growled as Jim tantalizingly licked his fingers clean of chocolate.

"_Spock._" Jim said in a mildly petulant tone. He tried his best to school his face into a blank slate like his first officers, but the corners of his eyes and mouth kept turning up of their own accord.

"Are you mocking me, captain?"

"If I say yes will you 'consume' this?"

"If I say no will you continue with your peevish and irritating gestures?"

"Yes."

"Then I concede. I shall have _one_ more. That is all."

Fifteen chocolates later, Jim was almost regretting giving the Vulcan chocolate. He probably would have felt guilty for intoxicating the Vulcan in such a way, had it not been for the way his first officer's face melted into a smile as the chocolate melted in his mouth.

Although Spock was very meticulous, and neatly kempt, after eating a vast amount of chocolate, not to mention the tantalizing Orion breed truffles inside of them, Spock's attitude and behavior had turned distinctly more feline. He also had a smudge of chocolate smearing his upper lip and the right corner of his mouth.

"Jim. I'm, I mean, I was wondering why you are staring at my lips in such fascination."

"Wait, wha—" Jim hadn't realized he had been staring. Hadn't realized how much time must have passed for Spock to notice given his present state.

At that moment, all he could concentrate on was the distracting feeling of the Vulcan's warm and surprisingly soft mouth on his, the messy way the Vulcan was stringing his hands through his hair, and the primal and possessive way his first officer had practically leapt across the table to gain access to his lips.

When the Vulcan ceased his ministrations, Jim smiled. "I am about ninety-five percent sure you just used a contraction, Spock."

Spock sat down and looked at the chocolate as though it had betrayed him. He looked away from Kirk uncomfortably and said, "I am truly sorry Captain." The Vulcan made to get up. "I will endeavor to avoid such actions again."

"Spock. You have nothing to apologize for. Put that fine ass of yours back in that chair…please."

"Jim. I was under the impression that my actions have not been well received."

"Don't be an idiot Spock. You are sorta wasted. I'm the one who should be apologizing. I feel like a creepy ass cougar or something. I had no right to do _this_ to you."

"Jim, I am sorry to announce to you that you bear little resemblance to a large, not to mention, extinct, predatory grimalkin. And I am not um… 'Wasted'"

"Dude, you can't seriously think you are sober."

"Shall I prove it to you?"

Jim smiled cockily. "Ok." Jim stood up form his chair and walked across the room. "Spock. Walk to me heel-toe-heel-toe."

Spock stood up a little too fast and paused as everything became a little too bright and slightly out of focus. "Captain, have you ever noticed that this Starship has an inordinate number of lights in dysfunctional places. There is no discernable purpose to having all of the lights condensed into one area, nor on the floor, unless there was some sort of power outage. However, in that situation, it would be highly probable that we would all be dead considering life support systems would have shut off with the power. Perhaps it is so small children do not become mislead, after all, a starship of the Enterprise's class is quite large and confusing. I often find ensigns who have been mislead in the lab area of the ship due to the many offices and lack of proper labeling."

Kirk grinned. "Commander?"

"Oh, of course. In my wondering I neglected to complete your task." Spock tilted his head and raised an eyebrow at his captain, "You are aware that this is an exercise in futility. I know I'm not intoxicated."

Jim could tell that his first officer was smiling, but in his hidden, serene manner, where the corners of his mouth and eyes tilted up into a gentle, and in a way, secret smile. The fact that he was not completely sober only exacerbated the practically imperceptible shifts in emotion.

Spock began walking towards the captain, with careful, measured steps. The pointed toes of his boots followed the slightly sloped heels in a perfectly straight line. As he neared Jim the Vulcan was startled by the sound of the officers mess door opening. The sudden noise disrupted his concentration and

caused him to trip. He landed precariously on top of the captain, making them collapse on the floor in a tangled heap of limbs.

Nyota Uhura strode into the room with purpose and clicking heels. Only to find herself confronted with her two commanding officers, in a mess on the floor. She smiled, let out a quick laugh and turned around mid-step, closing the door on her way out.

Once Uhura had left the room, Spock stopped trying to entangle himself from Jim. He used his superior strength to prevent him from struggling and tangled his hands in the captains golden over shirt.

"I believe that this is an opportune place for, as the doctor say, some shut-eye." The taller Vulcan tucked his head into the crook of Jim's neck and preceded to fall asleep, almost instantaneously.

Jim smiled, kissed the Vulcan's head and mumbled into his hair, "Rom-run , t'hy'la."

Translation: Sleep well, friend (brother/lover).


End file.
